


food for thought

by voksen



Series: breadsports [4]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bread Sex, Crack, Established Relationship, Fluff, Food Kink, Kink Meme, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Valjean and Javert still can't manage to talk out their feelings but muddle through in the end anyway.</p><p>Prompt: Established relationship. Javert has a bread fetish and Valjean thinks he's being mocked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	food for thought

**Author's Note:**

> Why are there so many bread prompts on this meme I swear

Javert was not entirely an easy man to live with.

That might be unfair, Valjean thought with a twinge of remorse, as he was not sure he was, either: they were both old men, set in their ways, having to bend in a hundred small unexpected matters to fit around each other's long-established habits. And then Valjean had had Cosette; he had long since become used to the casual friendly brush of hand on shoulder, a kiss upon going out or coming in, that still occasionally made Javert jump and bristle.

But this... He frowned down at the bit of paper in his hands: a shopping list written out in Javert's steady hand, found lying on the kitchen table that morning, as neatly, compulsively dated as if it were a police report. Butter he could understand, cream and coffee, even the jam, for he hadn't checked the pantry recently and they might well be out; but what need did they have of more bread? He had bought some himself only the day before.

But perhaps it had gone stale already. Valjean shook his head, dispelling old shadows, old dreads: he had spent so long watching over his shoulder for Javert's looming figure that surely he could not be blamed if he occasionally startled at finding him there, even if the wolf no longer howled outside his door.

He bought the bread.

 

The next morning a letter from Cosette arrived. It was quite thick, so he had saved it to read later rather than opening it over breakfast. Javert did not always join him in the afternoons, as of course he had business of his own; or Valjean assumed he must, in any case.

That afternoon, however, it seemed he did not; just as Valjean had settled into his chair and broken the seal of the letter, Javert - and the bread - put in an appearance. He set a rather large tray of bread-and-butter on the small sidetable beside Valjean, then sat in the chair next to him without a word, flipped open a newspaper, and by all appearances became immersed in it immediately.

Valjean glanced at the tray of bread inquiringly, but Javert apparently had nothing to say on the subject, and so he went back to his letter. Cosette and Marius were having a lovely time on honeymoon, it seemed, and they had--

"Have some bread, Valjean," Javert said.

Valjean closed the letter and looked at Javert, who was mostly hidden by the paper and didn't seem inclined to come out from behind it. He looked at the bread again. It was bread. Certainly it was good bread; the boulangerie he had bought it from was the one he always visited and as far as he knew nothing had changed. He had had some of it that morning at breakfast.

Well, he decided. Perhaps Javert was attempting some sort of familiarity, although sending Valjean out to do his shopping was a strange way to begin it. He picked up a piece of bread, spread a little jam over it, and took a bite. "Thank you," he said.

"Hm," Javert said, and rustled his paper.

Valjean went back to his letter. --and they had decided to extend their stay in Italy for a few months, owing to the beautiful art and the museum--

He looked up, sure he felt eyes on him, but Javert was still engrossed in the news. Valjean glanced around; of course there was no one else there; who would there be? Old nerves, he told himself, old nerves and old worries. He moved to set the half-eaten slice of bread down.

Suddenly Javert was looking at him from around the edge of the newspaper. Valjean's hand froze halfway to the tray; he felt oddly as if he had been caught doing something untoward. He lifted the bread back to his mouth and took another bite; Javert's eyes stayed on him steadily until he had finished chewing.

Valjean tried to concentrate again on Cosette's letter, but it proved impossible. Did he look hungry? It seemed unlikely; he and Javert took most meals together, so the man should know that he ate well enough. Was _Javert_ hungry? If so, why did he not eat any himself?

"Would you like some?" he asked finally, after a few minutes of puzzling at it left him no closer to an answer than when he'd begun.

Javert did not emerge from behind the paper again. "No," he said, "help yourself."

He took another slice, looking at it dubiously, and bit in again--and there, Javert was watching him eat it, spying around the edge of his cover. Valjean chewed grimly, finishing the whole slice one mouthful at a time. The paper did not move once until he had swallowed the last crumb, at which point Javert promptly turned the page.

What was going _on_?

Could he be imagining things? He returned his gaze to the letter, though the words on it hardly registered at all, and waited, counting slowly to twenty before reaching for the tray with a calculatingly idle hand, resting his hand lightly on the edge, close to but not quite touching one of the remaining pieces.

Javert was definitely watching him again. He had not felt so desperately scrutinized since - since Montreuil-sur-Mer, when Javert had by unhappy chance seen him lift that cart. 

Perhaps it is no coincidence that it is _bread_ he offers you, a dark whisper said in the back of his mind; perhaps he seeks to remind you that everything you have you have because he stayed silent; perhaps he seeks to remind you that to him you are not Fauchelevent nor Madeleine nor Valjean but only and always the thief 24601.

He tapped his fingers on the tray restlessly, but this doubt was not so easily shaken. Javert had hounded him for so long over so many years that the more Valjean considered it, the less impossible the idea seemed. They had been at peace with each other for less than a fraction of that time, after all.

Finally he picked up the piece and bit down deeply, viciously, staring directly at Javert's newspaper so that when it twitched aside that tiny bit so that Javert could see, Valjean caught him at it. He swallowed; the unchewed bread rasped dry and harsh against his throat. "Why are you watching me?"

Javert lowered the paper at last, though he seemed slightly disinclined to meet Valjean's eyes again. "The news is not particularly interesting today," he said.

No doubt that was true. "Javert," Valjean said. "Why did you bring me this bread." It was more an accusation than a question; he could not help it. Mockery seemed the only possibility, though he could not think what he had done to make Javert turn on him.

Except that mockery would not explain the faint hint of color that was rising in Javert's cheeks; not even if he were to be caught in it.

"Javert."

Javert sighed. "Because I wanted to watch you eat it, Valjean," he said finally, sounding a strange mix of exasperated and embarrassed, and folded his newspaper.

Valjean blinked, suddenly disarmed of his anger and hurt by the sheer nonsensicality of the explanation.

Tossing the paper on the floor, Javert stood; he was halfway to the door before Valjean realized that he actually did mean to go.

"Javert," he said a third time. "Wait."

Javert paused, hand on the doorknob and his back to Valjean, shoulders tense, hunched in a little, and it was that which at last convinced Valjean that however odd it was, it had been the truth; if he had not felt so scrutinized since Montreuil-sur-Mer, neither had he seen Javert look so uncomfortable, so out-of-sorts and half-ashamed.

The silence between them stretched out into an increasingly awkward moment before Javert's hand clenched on the doorknob, then fell away. He turned back, straightening as if facing a firing squad, and looked up.

Valjean met his gaze evenly, raised the bread to his mouth, and took another bite.


End file.
